


You Are the Light That Is Blinding Me

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bad Dreams, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, If you're still on the fence, Pre-Relationship, The mirror is involved, YOU WILL AFTER THIS, if you didn't know what fandom i was forged in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: Yasha's been waking up to some kind of weird light in her room, scattered among the flowers in her mural. She doesn't think too much about it until one night, they demand her attention and start her and Beau down a long overdue path.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 19
Kudos: 207





	You Are the Light That Is Blinding Me

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this really cool animatic today of The Stabbening (tm) and it inspired me to write, and then for some reason I went "hey what if the magic tower that bends to the will of its inhabitants had vaguely telepathic rooms?" And then I blacked out and woke up four hours later to this. Whatever it is, I had fun.

The tower Caleb had made for them was perfect, but Yasha questioned the glowing blue flowers. They were beautiful, truly, but they seemed to come alive at random hours at varying intensities - they were lightless when she fell asleep, but she would wake up disoriented at odd times to hundreds of delicate blue pinpricks pulsing quietly. For the first five nights of their week before Eiselcross, the glow was soft, almost rippling, with occasional flashes of white like lightning.

It wasn't exactly that she minded, certainly not enough to bring it up to Caleb, but it did leave her a bit perplexed to wake up with so much light where there had been peaceful darkness.

On the sixth night, she woke up to find the lights pure, crackling white. They seemed to glare at her, burning her eyes and flickering blue back to white. Usually she would lie on her mat and watch them until she fell asleep again. Tonight though - there was something unsettling about them and she had woken up so suddenly that her heart was pounding. It would be a while before sleep found her again. She sighed. Maybe some tea would help.

Yasha stood and tugged the black robe that seemed to come with the room from its spot on the back of her chair and slipped it on over underclothes, pausing to admire the deep purple lightning trim along its borders. It was usually hard to make out, but in the insistent light of the flowers she could see them perfectly. Again, the light's intensity unnerved her a little, and she crouched down to touch one of beaming points dotting the meadow in hesitant curiosity.

Something cried out from what seemed like everywhere at once, startling Yasha and knocking her off-balance as she whipped her hand away and stumbled backwards. All of the lights had gone blue when she'd touched one, and now they were white again and silent as though nothing had happened.

Yasha flexed her fingers, deeply perplexed. She trusted Caleb and Jester, and she knew these flowers to be of their making. They weren't there to harm her, but she had no idea what to make of them either. Hesitantly, bracing herself, she reached forward again. The flowers burned deep blue once more at her touch, and again she heard what sounded like sobbing. She frowned. It sounded like…Beau?

"Please!" She heard the sound of something struggling, quiet sobs and rustling fabric.

Something clicked into place in Yasha's mind. It _was_ Beau. Somehow, her wall was linked to Beau's room.

And Beau was having a nightmare. Alone.

Yasha felt she should pull her hand away, but something kept tugging at her. Caleb controlled every inch of this place's construction, but he also had given them ways to change things, make them better, fill in any gaps he may have missed.

"If you wish it, it will be so." But who had wished this?

A broken sound from Beau's room, and then she heard it, a plea so quiet that she might have missed it if not for how hard she was listening for any kind of answer. "Yasha."

She turned and raced for her door.

************

Beau was lost in a blend of dream and memory, half aware of what was happening and not enough to pull herself out. Her father, with Molly's horns and a jail cell key held just out of reach. A cathedral with floor to ceiling murals of stained glass on nine sides, shattering over and over into crossbow bolts raining down, piercing her skin as she tried to get up, to move, anything. Footsteps echoing on stone, a dread presence she was helpless to resist turning to stare at full in the face - Yasha, eyes in shadow and blade held high, the _pain_ rippling from her hand...her hand?

She woke to the sensation of restraint and her name being called over and over. She flailed blindly, trying to wrench her hands free, blood roaring in her ears. There was a distant pop that she felt and heard at once, and then one of her hands slipped free to crack across something solid and the grasp on the other vanished immediately with a pained grunt. Beau whirled, half tangled in her sheets, to see Yasha at the end of her bed with a hand to her chin.

Some leftover part of her brain tried to tell her that this was dream Yasha, that she hadn't woken up and she should fight, run, do something, but it was almost immediately overwritten by the fact that this Yasha was not dressed for battle at all. She had a robe like Beau's, but black, and none of her armor.

"Ow," Yasha said quietly, and the dream popped like a soap bubble. Beau kicked the sheets from her legs and crawled to Yasha on shaky limbs, hissing when the one that had been dislocated in her blind panic collapsed under the weight she tried to put on it. She ignored it and kept going, concerned and confused about Yasha.

"Shit. Yash, I -"

"I'm fine," Yasha cut her off, wincing a little as she rubbed at a rapidly darkening mark right at her jaw. "Are you okay?"

Beau blinked as the whirlwind of dream and reality tried to find places to settle in her thoughts. "I honestly have no idea, but-" she had to clear her throat; it felt raw "- why are you here?"

She hadn't had any expectations for Yasha's response, really, because the whole thing was just that bizarre and she'd been conscious for all of five seconds, but whatever she could have come up with, it would not have involved Yasha turning visibly pink and staring at the wall next to her to say, "I heard you call for me."

Now Beau was blushing and had no idea why. She'd called for Yasha? Like out loud? She realized her breath was still coming fast and that she was on track to put permanent wrinkles in the sheets with how hard she was gripping them with her good hand. She relaxed her fingers with effort and watched in fascination as the whites of them filled back in with blood.

"I'm sorry," Yasha said, pulling her thoughts back to the present. "I shouldn't have come."

Beau's head snapped up again as Yasha made to move for the door. She stretched out her injured hand on reflex and felt a bolt of fear go from her chest to mix with the one of pain in her wrist. "Wait."

Yasha stopped, her back to Beau. There were so many thoughts and feelings burning their way through Beau's tensed body - from the dream, yes, but from trying to put together what she was seeing right now, too. That fear, fading slower than she'd like. Terror from before, still crawling its way out along her veins. Shame, a little, and…hope? Gods she felt so small suddenly. She let her hand fall. "Please don't go."

Stillness stretched, and Beau couldn't look at Yasha. She was very suddenly aware of herself, of the wrecked sheets and the sweat drenching her and plastering hair to her face, of being in nothing but her undershorts. Her fucking hand, which she'd dislocated for the express purpose of flailing it across the face of one of her best friends, who had apparently come to help her.

Well that was all fine then, because it was the wrecked inside of her that was making her feel small and weak. Might as well have an outside to match.

She heard Yasha moving back towards her, saw the bed depress in her periphery as Yasha sat down gently. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Beau choked a laugh, furiously fighting back the tears rushing up behind her eyes. "Yeah. I won't hit you again."

Yasha hauled her weight fully onto the bed so that now Beau was staring off into space in the vague direction of her crossed legs. "That is not what I was worried about." Soft fingertips touched her back before Yasha's palm lowered to lay flat against her spine.

Beau was already as tense as she could be and she startled in spite of herself, and then she quickly leaned into Yasha's touch with a rushed, stammered apology before she could fuck it up too badly and make her go away.

Yasha shushed her gently and tugged Beau towards her just a little - a question, left open for her to say no. "Come here," she said, and Beau didn't spare a thought to refusing. She let Yasha pull her into her lap like a child, and when her arms wrapped around Beau and just held her, there was nothing more she could do about the tears that came fast and hot from whatever part of her had conjured up that awful nightmare.

Yasha said nothing as she cried, but Beau distantly felt her hesitantly rest her chin on her head, and after a few more moments the fingers holding her shoulder began to rub halting, soothing motions there. Some very deep part of her hated this, hated feeling like such a problem for someone as nice as Yasha to try and solve when she was dealing with her own shit. She should make an uncomfortable joke or something, break this up.

But that voice was weak, weaker than Beau had heard it in a long time. Maybe it made her selfish to let Yasha hold her like this, that was fine. She could deal with that later.

Yasha reached for Beau's right hand, and Beau let her take it, wincing a little. Calloused, kind fingers traced over the swelling and the bruises on her knuckles, and then Beau felt the angry, hot skin and muscle soothe and lighten with a small glow of healing magic, punctuated by a bookend cracking noise from her wrist. The settling brought an involuntary gasp of relief from her, and she felt Yasha freeze for a moment before continuing to soothe as best she could. Beau flexed her fingers, considering. She knew how she'd hurt her wrist, but she had now put together that the bruises hadn't matched up to hitting Yasha in the jaw by accident. What else had she hit in her sleep?

As she stared in vague puzzlement at her hand, Yasha's voice came from above. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Beau jumped a little, a reflexive "no, that's fine, thank you, bye" on her lips, but she paused. She had a chance to talk to Yasha, really talk, and the weird thing was…she kinda wanted to? Not about all of it, no, but there was a part of Beau that said if she was going to allow this, she might as well take it another step. "I don't know how much I can, really," she said truthfully.

The hand on her shoulder moved to brush the hair stuck to her forehead back and out of the way. Beau closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, letting it soothe her. "Nightmares can be awful like that," Yasha agreed. "I know it doesn't always help to say them out loud."

Gods, she probably _did_ know, but down that road were a lot of questions with a lot of potential to fuck things up, so Beau changed the subject to voice the one question that had been first on her mind when her thoughts had begun to trickle back. "How did you hear me?"

The hand in her hair hesitated. Beau opened her eyes and leaned back a little to search Yasha's face. She looked like she was looking for a way to explain something without scaring her. Beau could relate. "I won't be mad if you were outside my door," she added.

Yasha's lip quirked. "I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind, but no." She took a quick breath and kept going before Beau had the chance to try and sort the meaning from those words. "I think my walls told me?"

Okay, she was going to need more on that one. "Your walls?"

Yasha had turned a light shade of pink that almost made Beau feel a little sorry for her, but she was invested now. "You know the mural," Yasha began. "The one from Jester that Caleb enchanted to-" she waved a hand in an approximate gesture of wind "- move and stuff? I keep waking up to a bunch of the flowers glowing."

Beau frowned. "And…they talked to you?"

She was joking, but Yasha's face was grim. "Kind of. Well, they didn't, but you did. When I touched them."

If anyone but Caleb had built this place, Beau would call bullshit. But he did build this place, so she said, "huh. What'd I say?"

"You were shouting," Yasha said, "and I could hear you fighting your bed. And then you said my name really quietly, so…I came."

Beau stared at her. "Yash," she said. "That's fucking weird."

Yasha was a very attractive shade of red at this point, and Beau didn't hate it. But the thing was, even though it was definitely weird, it also explained a mystery of her own. Because…"my wall lights up purple," she said. Yasha had been staring at the bed as though it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, but her eyes lifted to Beau's in confusion. "Usually before I go to bed," Beau continued. "When I'm doing my letters at my desk. I didn't see it the first night or last night because I was in the library, but…" she frowned. "Hey do me a favor."

"Okay?" Yasha looked a little confused, which was fair since she was literally sitting on Beau's bed and holding her, and if something didn't change soon this might get weird. Beau didn't want it to get weird. Not like that anyway.

"Think about me for a minute. Just. I dunno, whatever you want. Imagine something."

Yasha closed her eyes, looking more than a little embarrassed. "Okay, ah…I'm thinking about Rumblecusp." She didn't have to elaborate. Beau's face stretched in a grin, and she tapped the hand still holding her shoulder.

"Look."

Yasha's eyes opened. "Oh," she said simply. It was a bit harder to see in the dancing lights above (which one of them had willed them on and when?) but the grain of the wood that made up the walls of Beau's room was definitely lighter, and lavender.

"Yeah," said Beau. "I'm gonna need several hours of your time and a chat with Caleb to figure this out."

Yasha nodded soberly. "I understand." There was something in her voice, and it had a weight to it. Resignation? Could Beau project hard enough to make up something like that? "I can see how it would feel like an invasion of privacy for me to know -"

"Yash." Yasha stopped talking. "However you were going to end that sentence, I'm really glad it got you here." Yasha nodded in silent acknowledgment. So the wall had something to do with thinking of each other. How far did that go? "It's not like I was whacking off," she blurted before she could talk herself out of it.

The light patterns turned deep violet in an instant, and Beau grinned the biggest grin she'd ever attempted - part relief, part shit-eating bastardry. A real Beau special.

"That's," Yasha began, mystified. She tried again. "That's _cheating."_

Which was again the furthest thing from what Beau would have guessed her to say, so she just buried her face in Yasha's shoulder and laughed.

"Look," she said after a moment and a deep breath. "You can probably turn it off if you want, right? Caleb said that thing about wanting stuff to happen?" The purple on the wall didn't budge.

"I…don't think I want to turn it off," Yasha confessed after a breathless moment. Something like hope surged in Beau's chest. "But I don't…it's not…"

"Hey," Beau said softly. "I know you're not ready. It's okay."

Yasha blew out a breath. "Is it though, really?"

"Well," Beau said, looking away, "there's a great chance I won't be able to look you in the eye for a week after crying all over you and punching you in the face, if it helps."

Yasha relaxed just a little. "It kind of does, actually." She looked at Beau, really looked at her, and she was surprised to find that the urge to retreat, though definitely still present, wasn't half as strong as it would be under different circumstances. "I like knowing this is maybe helping to communicate to you, a little. But I don't want it to speak for me."

Beau nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"I just want to be able to talk to you myself, properly," Yasha said. "When it's time. Until then, whenever that is…" she looked over at the wall, which gave Beau a few precious seconds to try and wipe off the dumb look she knew had to be there. _When it's time?_

"If walls could talk," she joked weakly. Yasha hummed an agreement and a few long moments passed comfortably in the silence.

The exhaustion of the nightmare and its emotional fallout was beginning to settle in Beau's bones, and while she wouldn't have minded falling asleep in Yasha's arms, she had been serious about not being able to look her in the eye for a week after this. And weirdly, when she thought about it, she didn't really want that.

So she summoned up her willpower and said, "Yash?"

"Yes, Beau?"

"Is it…would it be too much if I asked you to stay tonight?"

Yasha seemed to consider for a moment. "I don't think it would be too much," she said. "It's been…odd, sleeping alone. Nice, but…almost too quiet."

"Same," Beau said. "And I don't have those kinds of dreams when you guys are around." Not since a few nights after she'd nearly died at Yasha's hands, at any rate, but they were both very pointedly not going there right now. "You don't have to be up here in the bed," she added. Then, quickly, "but like, of course it's great if you do."

At this, Yasha did actually chuckle, and Beau felt like maybe this whole thing might not end in a trash fire after all. She hadn't realized there'd be any tension left inside her, but she felt it leaving anyway. "It's comfortable up here," Yasha said. "Maybe I'll dream one up for my own room when we come in again."

Beau couldn't resist. "Mirror and all?"

Yasha's hand in Beau's hair pulled affectionately. "No, that's all yours." They both looked up at the curtain covering the space where they knew the mirror was, and Beau found she actually wasn't sure if she was glad or disappointed that she'd closed it before going to sleep.

"You can open it if you want," she said more boldly than she felt.

Yasha hesitated. "Maybe. Will you tell me something first?" At Beau's nod, she asked, "Was I…part of your nightmare?"

Fuck. Of all the questions. Beau couldn't lie to her, but she also couldn't make her mouth work right.

Yasha nodded slowly. "It's alright," she said. "I was just sort of hoping that would help me pick." Yasha reached to rub the tassel of the cord between her fingers absentmindedly. "What will you see?" she asked.

Beau's voice came out a little shaky. "Me, looking wrecked to shit and my eyes all red." More quietly, she added, "You, looking at me and not yourself to make sure I'm not scared of you."

"Are you?"

Beau turned her face into Yasha's shoulder. "Never."

She heard the fabric hissing softly as Yasha pulled, and then after a moment she heard nothing, because Yasha had stopped breathing.

Curiosity won out. Beau looked.

"Oh," she said.

She did look wrecked, that had been a good guess. But curled up like this, pressed up against Yasha's chest, she also looked _protected_ , like she was some kind of treasure to Yasha - something to be kept. She met those mismatched eyes in the mirror and was surprised to see Yasha's lips curl into a soft smile.

"I look...gentle," she said in a kind of awe.

Beau's hands were tucked in against the waistband of her undershorts. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she lifted one and traced the line of Yasha's eyebrow down the side of her face to rest with her fingertips on Yasha's jaw. "You mean you didn't know?"

Yasha made a strange sound and turned her face into Beau's palm, away from the mirror. She seemed overwhelmed somehow, but when her eyes opened a moment later they were dry and soft. "Let's keep it closed for tonight," she said. "But I'm glad we looked."

"Me too," said Beau. Yasha pulled the curtain back behind her head, and then she reached to grab the blanket and sheets to try untangling them with the one arm she had that Beau wasn't leaned against. Beau scrambled to help, sitting up but doing her best to stay in Yasha's lap as together, they got the linens somewhat adjusted.

Yasha took the opportunity to slip out of her robe and drop it gently on the floor near the top of the bed. Beau focused on the dancing lights and they dimmed obligingly, until only the purple of the walls was left.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" Yasha asked.

Beau tugged her down as she stretched back out on the mattress with a yawn. "Nah," she said. "I've gotten used to it." She grinned into the relative dark as she heard Yasha exhale sharply in the way that meant she was amused. She realized she was kind of close to her still. "Is this okay?" she asked.

She wondered if she should elaborate for a moment, and then Yasha shifted closer and allowed her arm to drape over Beau's waist. "This is better, if you're okay with it."

Beau all but purred. "I'm great," she said, and meant it. Whatever this was, whatever it was going to be, the ball had always been in Yasha's court. If she only got tonight, that would be okay. Difficult, but okay. They were already in a space tonight that she never would have dreamed was possible. Everything else was gravy.

As though reading her mind, Yasha said, "I might be gone when you wake up. Upstairs, I mean. Or in the kitchen, not - I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," Beau said. "Save some pancakes for the rest of us."

A smile in Yasha's voice: "no promises."

A big part of Beau wanted to stay awake all night, just listening to Yasha breathe and replaying the last half an hour on repeat in her mind. Walls that talked, possibly because they'd both wished for some backup in communicating, Caleb's mirror turning out to be useful after all, the fact that neither of them had cut and run despite a lifetime of the habit…it took effort to gather in all of her thoughts and worries, but one by one she watched them go until finally, she fell asleep feeling all at once more guarded and more open than she could ever recall.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Anchor" by Bastille. I was going to call it "You Cut Through All the Noise" and then I remembered that line and it was funnier.
> 
> Also I am often dramatic, but not to the point of capitalizing tags. I dunno what's up with that. I've edited it on mobile and computer and it goes back to being capitalized (it's not in the drop down menu either, so it's not that).


End file.
